Good News

Oh, man, you don’t read P. Diddy’s Twitter? You are missing the boat, friend. It’s the only one that matters. (Except yours, of course.) Diddy’s Tweets are always on the super posi-tip, and everything he exclaims in his ALL CAPS hysteria he does with such force of (140) character(s) and verve, you can’t help but let it lift your mood. And considering we’ll all be dying soon in a shitstorm combo of Swine Flu, climate change and Obama-inspired economic apocalypse (how dare that motherfucker lower my taxes !), Diddy’s Twitter has replaced the Chicken Soup for the Soul series (Golf Book, Teens Talk High School , Cancer Book), the KFC Famous Bowl, DVR-ing Oprah and Jenna Jameson ’s biography in the column of my life marked “Shit I turn to for comfort.”

I’d urge you to start following: Twitter.com/Iamdiddy. There you’ll find uplifting bon mots like “It takes a lot of courage to do something different!!! I hope I have enough to stick to my guns!!! I believe I do! I do! Fuck it! Let’s go!” “Thank you for believing in me!!! And know that I believe in you also!!!!! We all need people to believe in us!!!! BELIEVE!!! Do you BELIEVE??????” Many of his tweets are signed off with a signature “LET’S DO THIS, PEOPLE!” that just makes you want to do it, people. P. Diddy is the Tony Robbins of the hip-hop game.

Below you’ll find a tidy bolded list of some other music-related things you should know/own, that’ll also lift your spirits—aural MDMA, if you will. (I will!)

Ever since March when Kurt Vile LOCKED IN at Austin’s annual South by Southwest Music Conference by playing a slew of well-attended and much ballyhooed shows, I’ve been hearing news of a big-time record deal coming through for Philly’s favorite son. I BELIEVE IN HIM!! This week Vile confirmed it, telling me that, yes, he was inking a deal with venerable Atlantic-owned indie Matador records (KNOW YOUR OXYMORON’S, PEOPLE!!!). The as yet untitled record “comes out in Rocktober” Vile tells me. Good news!

I don’t know about you, but when I think about running for 45 minutes one of three things come to mind. 1) “I don’t want to do that.” B) “Do they make sports bras in my size?” or III) the two fat guys and Posdnuos from De La Soul . Come to find I share trait III with whatever swinging dick makes the big decision over at Nike these days, because they’ve mined the (two thirds) overweight outfit for the newest edition of their Nike sports music series, that 45-minute-long track thingy they’ve plucked LCD Soundsystem , Aesop Rock and Chemical Brothers for in years past. I’ve listened to it (sitting, in my office) a couple times, and it’s great. GET LOCKED IN WITH TRUGOY THE DOVE, PEOPLE!!

Way back years ago when people actually cared about things of gross consequence and importance (it was called middle school back then, not sure what it goes by these days), there was a store in the mall called I Forget What my friends and I loathed. It sold concert shirts to any show you could’ve possibly imagined just days after the concert rolled through town, and for much cheaper than they were available for at said concerts. Here you could buy the latest bootlegged Rush, Metallica, Yes, Anthrax, Ozzy shirts for the low, low price of made in Bangladeshy sweatshops. Oh, did I say any shows? I meant “any shows attended by heshers.” Anyway, to buy a shirt there was to be persona non grata around the “cool kids”; a poseur, a faker who didn’t know, to be real, you needed to drop $50 on a shirt that didn’t fit as opposed to $15 for one that did, and that, on the off chance it didn’t, you could return with receipt for the full purchase price. And for the record: No way, no how did I get my Megadeth “Peace Sells ... ” shirt there.

Anyway, nowadays the “I was there, mannn ” thing doesn’t even exist with today’s yutes who skip concerts altogether to attend rainbow parties (Urban Dictionary can help here) and update their Facebook statuses every six minutes. Pick up Gig Posters: Rock Show Art of the 21st Century by Clay Hayes of gigposters.com and see a heady collection of gorgeous posters for shows des yutes aren’t even bothering to fake not attending. Forty bucks, published by Quirk Books.

Buy the new Major Lazer album, Guns Don’t Kill People ... Lazers Do .

A couple years ago I found myself in that unnerving slice of hell known as Philadelphia International Airport one tiny gate away from King Britt, the longtime Philly DJ and Back 2 Basics superhero. A fun game I started playing in my mind: What beautiful, exotic locale is Britt headed to? I came up with several answers: Aruba. Ibiza. South of France. Monte Carlo. Spain. Any place the pretty people that smell like coconut oil and carefree beach sex congregate (i.e., not Texas, where I was headed. Damn you, Britt! You win again!). Now I may have an answer of sorts in the release of the new Southport Weekender Volume 8 , a double CD by Britt and accomplished DJ Ashley Beedle . Volume 8 is an infectious blend of soul, world and jazz favorites tweaked a bit by these two huge talents, and is a tiny smidge of the hours upon hours of music that takes place at the annual dance party held in the U.K. If it’s a fair representation, hell, I’m booking my ticket now. DO YOU BELIEVE? LET’S GO, PEOPLE!! ■